The crowd parted right and left. Suddenly the carriage
stopped, and Bigot stood up, folding his arms, and glancing round
with a disdainful smile without speaking a word. He carried a paper
in one hand.
Here were at least two thousand armed and unarmed peasants, sick
with misery and oppression, in the presence of their undefended
tyrant. One shot, one blow of a stone, one stroke of a knife--to
the end of a shameless pillage. But no hand was raised to do the
deed. The roar of voices subsided--he waited for it--and silence
was broken only by the crackle of the burning building, the tramp
of Montcalm's soldiers in Mountain Street, and the tolling of the
cathedral bell. I thought it strange that almost as Bigot came out
the wild clanging gave place to a cheerful peal.
After standing for a moment, looking round him, his eye resting on
Doltaire and myself (we were but a little distance from him), Bigot
said in a loud voice: "What do you want with me? Do you think I may
be moved by threats? Do you punish me by burning your own food,
which, when the English are at our doors, is your only hope? Fools!
How easily could I turn my cannon and my men upon you! You think to
frighten me.
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